


Nightmares

by dreamthievespart17



Series: Night (Soft Rovinsky) [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Aesthetic narration I guess, Allusions to Child Abuse, Cuddling, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, I wrote this in like half an hour and I was just vibing, M/M, Nightmares, Nighttime, Really brief descriptions of blood/injuries in nightmares, a lot of parallel structure and repetitive language, idk what this is just enjoy it, really vague hurt/comfort, really weird narration style, rhythmically chosen words, when Ronan has nightmares Kavinsky knows, zero dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamthievespart17/pseuds/dreamthievespart17
Summary: When Ronan has a nightmare, Kavinsky knows, and he knows that he is needed...
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch
Series: Night (Soft Rovinsky) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056350
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This could be seen as a part 2 to Night Air, but it’s not necessary to read it to understand this.

Kavinsky wakes to the memory of bloodied ravens carving up his stomach, to eyeless monsters that kiss his neck with their talons. He wakes to the recollection of horrors and fearsome nightmares and he knows that it is the creatures that plague Ronan’s mind that now creep through his. He sits up. 

The room is dark and sleep is in the air, warm, unconscious bodies pressed up to him on either side, two or more lost boys clinging to him in their sleep, his dreamers, clutching at him, fingers grasping at his arms and neck in sleep. Slowly, carefully, as not to wake them, Kavinsky disentangles himself from the comfort of the boys, the one who’d been closest beside him stirring but not waking. He slinks out of the covers, pausing to fix the blanket back over the others, and steps into the cool night air. 

Fumbling in the dark, he makes it to the door, oiled hinge gliding silently open and then closed as he steps out of the room, out of the house as he dangles car keys from half-asleep fingers, stepping into the sky. 

The moon is slivered and waning, the stars are duller than usual. It is the perfect night to not see the world. He steps into his pale white car and quietly turns the keys, engine purring softly as he starts off to his predestined destination. 

Empty streets on a shadowed night, he is alone with the darkness, but not for long. As he turns the corner sharply, he thinks of the boy whose nightmares awoke him and whose warmth he now seeks. 

He slips out of the car and slips into the building, an old factory with concrete walls and too few windows. The first door is unlocked and the second he picks with a silver tool that he snuck out of his mind when the gods had their backs foolishly turned. He is grateful for the tool, though he does not say it, like he is grateful to the dreams for connecting him to the boy, though he will never voice it. 

The common room is dark and sleepy and he wishes to lie down there, to close his eyes and wake to warmth and companionship, but the owner of this home does not wish him welcome and he knows. 

His footsteps are soft as his heart is in that moment and the floor barely creaks as he crosses it, quiet feet honed from a lifetime of fear of a father whose greatest hatred was the sound of his son. He is used to being silent, he is used to being afraid, so he understands that the boy does not wish to be alone right now, whether he has it in him to ask for it or not. 

Kavinsky slides open Ronan’s door and slips inside, knowing that Ronan has been expecting him and that he has been hoping for him, though he will never voice those notions. Kavinsky is right and Ronan lies awake staring at the ceiling, feeling the talons that tore into his throat and the ravens that drank his blood like it was a delicacy. He does not turn his head because he knows that it is Kavinsky, knows that no one else would come looking for him at this hour, knows that no one else would knows he needs company, he needs companionship. 

His covers are rumpled and if his hair was not shaved down to a short buzz, it would be tangled and messy. He lies there, glazed eyes gazing at the ceiling as Kavinsky stares at him for a moment, taking in the face of a beautiful person who he knows will never be his. He swallows the lump in his throat and ignores the pain, just like he always has done. 

He moves toward the bed, silent as the night, and when he slips under the covers, he presses his head the the other boy’s chest and hugs him close. Ronan shifts from where he was lying, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes from the nightmares that refused to let him sleep and wraps his arms around Kavinsky. 

It is interesting that he is the one holding Kavinsky when he is the one who has had the nightmares, but he likes it like this, likes having some semblance of control when he lacks it in his dreams. He doesn’t always prefer to control, no, that is more of Kavinsky’s preference, but right then, right now, he needs someone to hold, and not the other way around. 

Kavinsky smells like old cigarettes and expensive cologne and nighttime and Ronan breathes it in deeply, appreciating the solidity of him, the realness that he can never acquire from the things that live in his head, even the ones that don’t stay there. They will always be fictional, no matter what reality they exist in. 

They lie like that for a long time, until they fall asleep, heavy eyelids closing softly and attempting to banish the memory of fear with a warm body, with another who knows the endeavor of trying to sleep when one knows all too well the demons in their head could very well become mortalized. 

When Ronan wakes, Kavinsky is gone, a whisper of a memory in the just dawning morning. But the sheets are still warm on the side that he slept on and his scent remains on the pillow and on Ronan’s clothes, proof that the memory is real. Proof that it happened in reality, not in their dreams. Reality may be all perception, but dreams are decidedly less there than the waking world, a memory so easily slipped out of one’s fingertips. It pleases Ronan to know that Kavinsky was really there, in his bed, in their concrete world. 

It pleases him, because sometimes he does not know what is real anymore, nightmares bleeding into the waking world, fears so deep they become a part of him. But a warm body encircled by his arms, a narrow palm gripping his, and he feels better somehow. Feels better, knowing that in the night, when he wakes from nightmares where he has no control, another wakes with him and knows what he needs and knows that he is needed. 

When Ronan wakes in the night, Kavinsky wakes as well. When nightmares creep into his dreams, Kavinsky will slip into his bed, ready to be held, to be helpful, to be _here_. Here, where Ronan needs him. And that’s why, after unspeakable nightmares, after a warm body comes to rescue him and help him fall back asleep, Kavinsky is the one he will see in his dreams. And secretly, he does not mind.

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to [Kiddi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiddi). They’re the coolest kid in town and they have some quality writing, some even being Rovinsky-centric! 
> 
> So basically Kiddi and I were chatting about Ronan and the gangsey and Dreampack and about which of them need cuddling the most and which need to be cuddled the most and then I had inspiration and they told me I should just write the thing so I did and here we are. I appreciate the support you hooligan I wouldn’t have written this unless you told me to.
> 
> Okay everyone tell me your thoughts in the comments I love getting feedback and have a lovely evening or not evening <3
> 
> Catch me on tumblr @somniabundant


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